For the Innocence of the Innocents
by Gfcem
Summary: After reaping one of his victims, George decides to investigate the Butcher herself. Chapter 9: Dexter witnesses another of George's "kills". Has the hunter become the hunted?
1. Chapter 1

**I gotta say, I can't believe there wasn't a cross over for this before…and as a warning, it may be a bit AU since I'm moving the Reapers to Miami, but everything else is the same okay. This is set in the middle of season 2 for Dexter, and generic whenever for DLM.**

**Summary: After reaping one of Dexter's victims, George begins investigating the Butcher on her own.**

**Disclaimer: So, while I'm not actually making money from this, I am obligated to tell you I don't actually own any form of media…including Dexter or DLM.**

George sighed. Another murder victim on the post-it. And another late night one too. She'd had them before of course; sometimes even a double, in which the murderer died with the victim. It was strange though, the address was an apartment she'd been to last week, and a girlfriend was killed by a jealous ex, cliché. It was too early to have found a new tenant, wasn't it?

With nothing to do for the rest of the day until then, she sighed and after paying for her breakfast, headed for work.

**Dexter's POV**

He'd double checked the man's background. One Daniel Saxon, a man who'd murdered not just his previous girlfriend, but the four previous as well. He'd gotten off on technicalities and the deaths being framed as accidents. He was evidently very possessive, regardless that he often cheated on his lovers, as often the young women were murdered when it was concluded she was about to leave him or had left him, or cheated on him.

After tonight, the least of Daniel Saxon's worries would be if his girlfriend was cheating on him.

He exited out of the windows of his laptop, then shut it and pushed away from his desk. His sister, Deb, peeked into office area, asking him what he was doing tonight.

_Getting another murderer off the streets._

"I was thinking of dropping by to see Rita, plus I've got another bowling game tonight. Wish us luck!" The faked enthusiasm seemed to work on her, as she gave him a thumbs up and backed off.

_She probably wanted to talk to me about something…oh well. At least she believed it._

With an alibi set, Dexter got out of his chair and walked the 14 and a half steps to the elevator. He always counted. It was something he could depend on. At the end of the day, no matter what happened or who died, those 14 and a half steps were waiting to take him to the elevator, to take him home.

Once in his minivan, he headed home to prepare. He would have to see Rita beforehand, at least three hours beforehand to further his alibi and then head to the bar he knew Saxon frequented.

He swung by Cody and Aster's school to bring them home, all Cody could talk about was their new project on the life cycle of the frog and butterfly. Aster was unusually quiet, it might be because school wasn't going to well for her, but that could be fixed with some treats bought at a nearby convenience store.

After dropping the kids off and eating dinner, a delicious concoction of spaghetti and meatballs, it was 6:30. He'd have to arrive at the bar by 9:30, with traffic he'd have to leave at nine or so. There was no harm in being early. Well, not for him at least.

He, Cody, and Aster played a long and vicious game of Candy land that seemed to cheer Aster up out of her melancholy mood. At around seven they quit in favor of a good game of Spoons and some desert, with a pointed look from Rita on spoiling them. He smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

Munching on the brownies their mother had made, they concluded their game after Cody became a bit over excited and hit the spoons direct center to prevent anyone but him from getting them. Silverware went flying and all four ducked for cover. After the mayhem and the giggling and laughter, Rita sent the two kids to prepare for bed. It was 8:34.

"What are you doing tonight?" Uh oh. If he got what she was suggesting, it might prolong his stay. He'd have to figure something out sooner rather than later, otherwise he might be late for his...engagement.

He gave her a sort of half hug. One that said, or so he hoped, "I'd really love to stay for more, but I'm in a rush for something that is definitely not as important as you, maybe later?" Of course, he had never mastered the entire language of Hugglish.

"Um, me and my bowling team had game tonight. Actually, as soon as those two get to bed I'd better leave. I might be late."

She seemed disappointed, but she masked it well.

"Well…good luck then. Hope you win!" Bad recovery. This meant he'd have to make it up to her. Probably with his next night off too…

Shaking those thoughts, he kissed her good night and the two of them put Aster and Cody to bed.

As he pulled out of the driveway, he fingered his slide.

_Daniel Saxon. I hope you had a good dinner. Because it was your last._

**Good? Bad? Should I continue it? I should tell you, this is a whole lot of firsts for me. It's my first Dexter fanfic, my first DLM fanfic, and my first crossover…so, reviews would be nice. Ones that critiqued it would be even better!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I've decided I'll update every week or so, as long as the reviews keep coming. As an explanation to why it's in the second season of Dexter, it's because I only watched the series on Netflix Instant watch, and they only have up to season two. DLM also, I've watched second season of, but I really liked the first a lot better.**

George Lass's POV

It was 6:30 before George got off of work, another late day, mostly due to the fact they'd had another seminar on "RIPOF", which, as we all know, really doesn't spell anything. She had a few hours to kill before her reap, she realized as she checked her note again.

D. E. Saxon

34 s st Beach Front apt, Miami.

ETD- 11:47 pm

It'd been forever since breakfast, which had been a single waffle since George was low on cash at the moment. Next Friday was payday, thank god, until then, it was one waffle for lunch, and one for dinner, or the equivalent of such. George decided to cruise by "Der Waffle House" to see if Rube or someone else had dropped by since then. No one had. So, five hours to kill until her reap. How come everyone else got the early ones?

George decided to stay anyways, figuring someone would drop by since it was nearing seven now. They would come to brag about their amazing new jewelry (Daisy), talk about getting drunk again, or how he was sober now, (Mason) and the general meeting up to make sure everything is good (Roxy and Rube). Mason was the first to get in, well really, the first to stumble in. He was half drunk and seemed determined to become completely so. Daisy followed soon after, taking the bottle from Mason's hand when she sat down and putting it at the far end of the table.

"So...how was it at Happy Time?" Ah, Daisy just had to bring it up didn't she? Couldn't leave well enough alone. Sure, the job was good, but it was booooring. She wasn't completely sure what she did there, or even what her position was in the company.

"It was," George stopped, searching for the right word, "good, I suppose. Could have gone better."

"Personally," Mason interrupted with one of his well thought out interjections, "I don't see why you need a job. Look at me, I don't have one."

They both just stared at him for a good two minutes before Roxy came in. Immediately she saw the beer and grabbing it like it was a deadly spider, she tossed it into the nearest trash bin. Mason half protested but gave up when he saw her glare that said she wasn't in the mood. By the time she sat down, it was 7:54 and Rube was coming in, probably to see if they'd all succeeded. The waitress bustled up and took all their orders.

"So, everyone get theirs?" Rube asked. They all gave signs of affirmative, all except George, who explained she had a late one. Mason snickered and drank the last of his ice water.

"That's too bad, and you have to get up early tomorrow too, don't you? For you're job I mean." Daisy was the only sympathetic one.

"Not any earlier than usual." George replied, a bit pissed off that they'd all indeed gotten the lunch accidents and afternoon collisions.

They all continued to talk, chatting about this and that, until their dinners came, at which point they dug in. George ate slow and luxuriously, knowing that while she didn't have to eat, the act of doing so pleased her temperance. Mason scarfed down his food, then more of Daisy's. Roxy just slapped his hand when he reached for her bacon.

At around nine-ish, they all called it quits and went to their respective destinations. George decided to head in the general direction of the apartments, in hopes she could find her reap early on. Murders weren't her favorite due to the fact while the intent may be to murder, often it turned into a freak accident. Like most of her jobs of course. The creepiest had been reaping the soul of an ex-convict holding up three old ladies in a shed. One of the ladies had been crocheting and when he came in with the gun, she became a little scared and threw it all over the place. At the same time, the guy had tripped and just so landed on one of the needles. And if that wasn't enough, apparently the next door neighbor's puppy was a cross bred bull dog, so George had had to jump three fences to lose the animal, and then go back for the guy who'd been overly confused and just stared at his body.

Most of the reaps down here were murders or would be murders. Doubles were the hardest to get by, since most attempts were made far away, and the "no noticing" thing really only worked when you were showing a soul to the next step.

Her thoughts still lost, George didn't see the minivan pull out until it was almost too late. She pumped the breaks and stopped just in time to barely dent the car. The guy driving turned and gave her a cold glance, then sped off.

_Some people..._ she thought.

George then turned onto the road her stop was on. It was 10:02.

**Dexter's POV**

He'd waited outside the bar for at least two hours. After the first one, which he had spent on high alert and did not allow himself to become distracted, he'd eased up, figuring that it might be a few more. He still remained cold however. The second hour passed with him undecided between going in and luring him out, or just waiting. Fortunately, by the time he'd made his decision Daniel had come out, thoroughly drunk. Dexter smiled to himself, figuring that at least wouldn't have to worry about a hangover tomorrow.

When the man neared his car, Dexter slipped out and crept behind him until they neared a corner. They he jumped him and covered his mouth with one hand, while injecting a shot into his neck with the other. The man went limp in his arms, and Dexter smiled. Throwing Daniel Saxon over his shoulder, he pushed him into the back seat of his car. Restraining him with the safety belt of course. Then he climbed back into the driver's seat and pulled out.

Or that's what would have happened, had he not been nearly hit by a red car. It stopped just in time to nick his door. He coolly turned his head and gave a silent glare at the young woman who was driving. She seemed just as scared and startled. Dexter then pushed the gas and sped to the last place Daniel Saxon had spent the night with his old girlfriend. Her apartment.

It was 10:02.

**-line break-line break-line break-**

Exactly one hour later, Daniel Saxon woke to find himself restrained to a cold table covered in plastic. He himself was tired down with plastic and the floor and surrounding walls were plastered down with it as well. A man in extensive gear and gloves, along with a shield mask in the other, was bent over another table. He seemed to be making a decision. Hesitantly, the man grabbed for...wait, was that a machete? Then put it down. He settled with a small, sharp knife, seeming to fondle and caress it like it was a child.

"Where the hell am I?"

The man only smiled as he turned to face Daniel. He had a creepy kind of smile on a creepy kind of face. It was as if the face was too kind to do anything that would harm you...but the eyes. If they were the windows to the soul, then his was blacker than onyx. It seemed as if they were a portal to the next world.

"Oh...my GOD!"

Daniel began to realize his chances of getting out of here alive were getting slimmer and slimmer. He searched the room for anything that might help him, his eyes settling on pictures of...those were his girlfriends! He widened his eyes, looking in fear at the man in the apron. Then he began to speak.

"You recognize them, don't you?"

His mouth went dry...he could only stammer. He had to be...he definitely was-

"You're the Butcher."

The man's smile ceased.

"I really, REALLY hate that name. What I do is an art! I mean, how many can do what I do?"

"Who'd want to do what you do?" Daniel spat the words out.

The man stopped what he was doing, which was bending over Daniel, searching for something. He straightened.

"Ah, but see, that's where so many are wrong...admit it. Sometimes you've wished it...that those who are problems...those who can't play nice would just go away-"

"or die." Daniel finished for him. The man smiled his scary smile again, continuing to bend over. He brought his knife down, making a diagonal cut on Daniel's cheek.

"Ah!" He gasped.

The man in the apron then took out a dropper, and picking up some of the blood, dropped a single tear of blood onto a slide. He pushed the other side on, firmly, like he was finishing something of a relic. He then placed it in his pocket.

"What always makes you think I want to do this?" The man asked. He then walked back to the other table and lifted up a butcher knife. Carrying it with grim determination, he walked slowly back, then raised the knife over Daniel.

"OH MY FUCKING GOD!"

They both turned to see a female figure in the door way, pulling back the plastic.

**TBC**

**You know how it is! Review please and maybe I'll type faster!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

S**orry this one's a little later than usual, I've been busy...you'll hear that excuse from me a lot actually.**

**Summary: George Lass has gone to the apartment of her reap, and Dexter has just begun his kill when a figure appears and screams. Who is this person?**

Dexter's POV

Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshit.

Rule number 1. Never get caught.

Fucking shit.

I dropped the knife I'd picked up, leaving Daniel Saxon on the table. The woman turned to me and screamed for god. She turned and ran, shoving things behind her and knocking them over as she left the kitchen/butchery. I was only a few steps behind her, but those steps were enough for her to get to the door and pull it closed, jamming it with something or another. My Passenger was unusually silent. I stopped banging on the door long enough to hear footsteps thudding down the steps. I leaned my back against the wall, sliding down it holding my head in my hands.

Questions were racing through my mind, faster than the speed of light. What was she doing here? Where had she come from? How had she gotten in, since I'd locked all doors and windows, sound proofing the place.

But most important of all. Who was she?

George Lass's POV

I pulled up in front of the apartments, checking the building sign to see if I was in the right place. There were relatively few than normal cars in the lot, but seeing as this wasn't the best part of town it sort of made sense. Last time I'd been here was for a young woman who'd fallen and hit the knife block, sending them flying as she tripped over her ex's shoes. It was a good thing I'd been far enough away, as that had been particularly nasty.

I pulled the post-it off my dash and stuck it in my pocket. I walked into the front door, surprised to find it unlocked. Taking the stairs two at a time, I didn't hear the frightened woman who was practically sobbing and falling down the stairs. I caught her as she tripped. She trembled like a deer caught in the headlights that knew it was going to die. I looked up the stairwell, no one was there. She sat down, obviously shaken from whatever had occurred. She was in her early thirties, wearing a gray business skirt, not unlike what I sometimes wore, and a red blouse. She was pale, and when I say that, I mean, she could have given Edward and Dracula a run for their money. Her thin veins on equally thin wrists were like ink on paper, if ink were dark blue and paper was albino paste colored.

I'm not all into that whole therapy thing, but chances were, she might be my D. Saxon. I asked her her name and what she was doing, a little curious as to what could scare a woman so bad. Then again, this was Miami...

"Darcy Saxon, my name..." she said it in a daze.

"I just came in...to speak with him...it's been hectic lately, what with how his girlfriend just died...and the police..." she hugged me tighter. I gave her a confused look.

"Who did you come to see?" There was now a VERY high chance she was my reap, but this had happened to often to take chances.

"My brother, Daniel." Shit. Who was it?

"So...what went wrong?"

She stiffened, then seemed on the urge of sobbing again. Drawing in a deep breath, she continued her story.

"I've had the key a while, but I don't use it...Danny can usually take care of himself, so when's he's home, since I visit sometimes, and he never gives his girlfriends keys...he leaves it unlocked..."

Right. Couldn't this woman hurry up? My faked sympathy was wearing thin.

"What was unusual?"

"It was locked...and when I opened the door...it was dark." She stopped for a minute, as if she was defending her brother. "-he leaves his lights on all the time. He's really just a softy...but he, and the other man...it was..." She shuddered. Now I was more confused than ever. Another man?

She calmed herself down, and stretched out her legs down the rest of the stairwell, glancing up fearfully a few times as if expecting an ax murderer to appear on the top.

"I went into the kitchen but...oh my god, it was horrible. He was strapped to a table...and there was this other man...and there was plastic! It was everywhere! I didn't know what to do...I just ran! The man chased me, but I managed to jam the lock...oh my god! What if Danny's dead?"

Wow. Was not expecting that. Then again, maybe I was. I patted her on the shoulder and grabbed a nearby chair, braking off two legs and handing her one. We advanced up the steps, up to where this man was about to commit murder.

Dexter's POV

I had to ditch the place, but I couldn't leave him here! He'd seen my face! I glanced at the shocked, gibbering body of Daniel Saxon, whose eyes were bugging out. I continued my pacing, concluding I would have to kill him before the police got here, and catch that woman.

"I'm telling you man! I didn't kill them! It was all accidents! Ashley tripped! There's no way I could have done that!" I ignored him. I had my proof. Once more I raised my knife, and once more I was interrupted with the door breaking down, and this time two very nervous women were in the doorway. They charged me.

The first, a blond, raised the bat too far above her head, I grabbed it and used it to flip her over and onto the floor, snatching the chair leg from her at the same time to meet the brunette, who was holding her weapon like a sword. I gave it a good whack and knocked it out of her hands. Then, I knocked her out, followed by her friend. Not before the blond had reached Daniel however, in what seemed to be an attempt to undo his bindings. It was too dark to see their faces unfortunately for me, yet fortunate also in the way that they could not see mine either.

I finished the kill, quickly. Too quickly for the Passenger to be pleased for the long, but at least it was done. I then tied the two up. First I carried down the trash-bags, then I smuggled the two woman out, tossing them in the back of the car. I made sure to buckle them up of course.

.oOo.

A while later, they woke up on my boat, the _Slice of Life. _My own personal joke. I had already dumped the body, so I was just floating and waiting for them to come too. It was too far away from anywhere that screaming would do them any good, and close enough that we could get back before dawn.

I made sure they couldn't see my face, then administered a cocktail of an assortment of drugs and substances that would make the last few hours blurry at best. once I was sure they were out again, I dumped the blond in the car she'd come in, the one I recognized, and the brunette in the apartment. They would wake up to a blurred night and just assume it was one of those things. Hopefully. I couldn't find ID on either one, but I would keep my tabs on them just to be safe. I drove home feeling particularly satisfied, even if the Dark Passenger wasn't.

George's Pov

When we got into the room, the man snatched the bat from me and flipped onto the floor, then he twisted to meet Darcy. I crawled to Daniel, placing my hand on his shoulder, popping the soul out of it's now nightmarish prison. The intruder who killed Daniel hit me on the head. I thought it best to play dead, not knowing what this man would do to me. I wasn't worried about permanent effects of course, but though we reapers can heal fast, it still fucking hurts as hell to get stabbed. I had to listen as he sawed poor Daniel's body apart, and the poor spirit who was Daniel had to listen to it. At first I didn't see him, but then his sobbing became too loud to ignore. Daniel was mumbling. Ever so slowly, I edged my hand to his foot, and gently tapped it. He looked at me. I opened my eyes a little louder, putting my finger to my lips. He nodded.

"What's happened? He killed me, didn't he?" I nodded.

"Why am I here still?" I waited for the chainsaw to start cutting bone before I answered, in a whisper, Daniel right next to my mouth, now leaning down.

"Yes, you're dead. No, there's nothing you can do. Now stay quiet and hang around me, and first chance I get, I'll lead you to the next step. Until then, there's nothing I can do." He looked at me and nodded. And then we waited for the nightmare to end.

.oOo.

He carried the bags to his car, then he put Darcy and me in the trunk as well. With the body. Darcy was still out cold. I shivered. Daniel had followed me into the car, so it was a bit crowded. He kept looking at his body, like he couldn't believe it. I suppose he had a right. After all, not everyone has the honor of being killed by a serial killer. Which reminded me, I still hadn't seen the man's face. He was a professional, whatever he was. He was taking no chances.

We'd been driving for about twenty minutes before the car stopped. I heard a door open and slam shut, then footsteps coming towards us. I shut my eyes and waited.

He grabbed me first, slinging me over his shoulder like a sack. Goddamit, he was _whistling_! We each were carried to a dock, and then dropped on a boat. I managed to read the name as we walked by. _Slice of Life. _Wow. Nothing he could do now would astonish me.

After we'd all been transported, the boat started up and we were carried about 45 minutes distance away from civilization. I could see Darcy was coming to, and unfortunately, so could the killer. He grabbed something, I couldn't see what and jabbed it into her arm. She collapsed. I shivered. Daniel began whispering, "No, nonononono." I was hit as well.

.oOo.

We reapers can't really harm ourselves, I mean, look at Mason. He was drunk all the time and managed to get his job done. Maybe he could be a little more sober now and then, and a little bit of a bastard and drunkard, but he was more or less okay. I'm pretty sure, going along this line of thinking then, that whatever that guy gave me before he dumped me and Darcy, and unknowingly Daniel at my car therefore, would have pretty much little to no effect, besides the occasional hallucination that popped into my vision now and then. Darcy was having a completely different scenario on the other hand. She was lucid and barely conscious, her head bobbing up and down and mumbling incoherently. I asked her where she lived and had to have Daniel translate.

After dropping her off, I answered Daniel's questions and he answered mine. I told him how to go on, and he left into the light. He'd told Daniel he was the Bay Harbor Butcher, amongst other things, and that he hated that name.

After contemplating all that had happened in the four hours I taken and then thinking about how I would be getting up in three hours I decided to catch a nap in my car, then head to the Waffle House.

I now knew two things. One was, screw my budget, I'm getting something deep fried. And two was that whoever the Butcher was, he was going to get caught.

**You know how it is, tell me what you think, I'll update sooner. You guys rock for even reading my story of course...thanks so much!**

**I should probably say, the reason this took so long was because I got a new phone...and I was so into the fact that I'd gotten a new one that was actually good, I pretty much shoved everything out...that accounts for the last two days. As for the rest of the week, I had volleyball games, at which I have to stay from C squad which starts at five, to varsity which ends at nine at best and if it's away, I have to look forward to an at least hour long drive.**

**In any case, please review! I love hearing what you think.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Yeah...hehehe...can I say my last promise of one every week was a bit optimistic? It's gonna be more like two or three now...sorry? Find it in your hearts to forgive me, but here's the next chapter.**

**Summary: George Lass is officially ticked off at the Butcher, after all, he only tied her up and stuck her in his trunk with a dead body. Meanwhile, Dexter is trying to figure out who the second woman was.**

**Dexter's POV**

It worried me I had been unable to track the blonde. After all, the brunette had been easy enough, documents and ID I found in the apartment registered as Saxon's sister, Darcy. The blonde though...It was like she didn't exist. The only papers I could find on the license plate was to guy who died in a freak accident involving a kitchen guillotine. Which of course led me to thinking there might be a history of grand theft auto, so I searched the system for someone fitting her description. Zippo, zilch nada. So, the must mean she bought it from some guy who did, but professionals at least got a different license plate.

I didn't want to let this one go, but she was an anomaly. There seemed to be no way I could track her. Then I scrolled down to photographs. Blood shot. Severed head and body. Kitchen guillotine. And in the distance, a young blonde.

I jumped up from my desk in the lab, smacking my head right into an open cupboard door. I zoomed in on the photo. Yep, there she was. She'd also been interviewed, and been quoted on saying "That was a tough gig.". Police had found the blood on her jacket suspicious, but blood spatter-pattern analysts found it to be the result of blood spraying from the body when the blade fell. It was noted she'd been in a rush.

I checked her contact information, and where she was staying and how to reach her and such. I'd just have to call her in to see if she remembered anything, and let her go.

I searched for her name and found it out, though it turned out to be a false lead. She was going under the identity of one Georgina Lass, but when I searched records for her, all I could find was an obituary.

I could call her in for an interview, get new contact info, easy. In and out in under half an hour. I grinned as I dialed the numbers.

George Lass's POV

After arriving at "Der Waffle House an hour earlier than it opened and freezing my tail off, I spent my savings on bacon and eggs and coffee. Lots of those three. The waitress just nodded and smiled and otherwise acted like she wasn't acting like she was taking an order from a half crazed girl with hair that looked like it hadn't seen a comb or brush in days and clothes that had been slept in. It reminded me I'd probably need to stop back home before work, though it was a given. What I would give for a shower...

I pondered heavy thoughts on what I would do to the Butcher when I caught him, one for making me miss my shower and spend all my savings, two for locking me in a trunk and putting blood stains in my skirt that would _never _come out, and three for killing so many people. He was a dead man, and I was going to be his Reaper.

I fumed in my head until Rube showed up. He gave me a long look up and down, and then ordered some hash browns and sat next to me.

"So, I take it last night didn't go so well?"

I gave him a sarcastic, ironic, glare. "No, not at all. Do you want to hear half the stuff I had to put up with?"

"Actually, interesting as your story may be, not really."

I sighed. The day had barely started and it had already been a long one. Mason was the next to show up and he sat down without ordering anything except water. I assume he was running out of money like I was now. He also looked me up and down, but didn't comment, unless you counted taking a long swig from his bottle a comment.

Rube's and my food arrived and I dug in whilst he ate slowly. I tore through my bacon, chewing rapidly and trying to forget the feel of ropes on my wrists and the smell of dead flesh. Mason stared at me for a while, obviously confused. I simply ignore him. I pretended the food I was consuming was the Butcher and I took great joy in making it scream in imagined pain.

I received a new assignment of course. This was a simple lawn mower accident. Great. I could devote the rest of the time to finding the Butcher. And of course my day job. First stop before that however was the Miami Police Station.

**I apologize sincerely for this being so short. It'll most likely be edited again, but I figure you guys have waited long enough. What I have planned next is too long to add to this chapter, but I'm really scared this chapter is too short to stand on it's own. Anyways, pleeeeaaase review. I am begging here. How about this, give me three reviews for this chapter within the week, that is, before October 10th. If it happens by then, you'll get you're chapter by the 15th. If not, I'm gonna take my sweet time and let other things take priority. I really like this story but I want to see if it's worth continuing.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again. I thank all of you who reviewed, and for those of you who didn't, would it kill you? It only takes 30 seconds to 2 minutes to say what you liked or disliked. It's all about communication! :) I've posted some challenges on my profile, to those of you who like those sorts of things...I also posted some videos, though those are mainly for Angel fans. I'm thinking about doing a Psych/Dexter crossfic when this one's done. Thoughts?  
**

**Dexter's POV- At Der Waffle House**

"Yeah, I've seen her. Her and her friends hang out here and get breakfast and dinner. Some of our most valued customers, 'cept for the drunk. Always writing on sticky notes that bunch." The waitress was extremely helpful with my search for the girl. All she'd put was she "didn't" have a phone, or address. In fact, it'd taken several hours just to find this restaurant as a local hangout for her. I was becoming a bit suspicious of her however. The waitress said she usually scrimped on cash, but the girl owned a Cadillac. I'd also traced her to a temp agency, Happy something or other. That would be the next place to check, her work locale. I'd missed her when she'd been there for breakfast, apparently stressed according to the waitress. She looked like she'd slept in her clothes and her hair wasn't brushed at all. Plus, she was wearing the same ones as yesterday. The waitress thought she might have been kicked out of her apartment.

I on the other hand, knew where she'd been all night. In the trunk of my car, knocked out and with a dead body. I was more confused than ever however. The waitress said "George" (as she was going by) lived nearby, though she wasn't exactly sure where. But this restaurant was on the other side of town, a good half hour drive to get to Daniel Saxon's apartment.

I decided I'd better drive there and check out the agency, see if she'd checked in lately. I bore the waitress a farewell and exited the restaurant, deciding there was a reason I didn't like syrup after all. It just got everywhere! Far too messy.

I began pondering this George Lass. Who she was, where'd she come from. She'd died in an accident, something about space junk or whatnot. The family had been devastated, the parents divorcing not even a year after she'd died. George Lass had been eighteen when she'd died. She'd had a younger sister, went by the name of Reggie. I banged my hands on my desk. Nothing made sense dammit!

The Dark Passenger inside me didn't like being confused. It wanted to know what she'd been doing. When I'd cross-reference George Lass with the police data banks, it turned out she was a witness at a lot of deaths. Not a key witness, but almost one a week she was near some sort of accident or another. She was seen talking with the victim always minutes before an accident, and then they died.

Maybe this girl was just unlucky, but I suspect there were far more accidents she'd witnessed that she didn't report. She seemed to take death with a passive attitude, like it didn't matter. I'd found that out from the psych evaluation that she'd taken in her job interview. I also found out she went by a different name entirely there. Millie Hagen also had an unusual amount of accident reports.

Some might call her depressed, but others said she'd looked at people like they were something else entirely different from her. There were far too many "accidents" around this girl, and I intended to investigate it all.

She would have to be called in on suspicious behavior reported from an unnamed citizen. I would have to reopen several cases unfortunately. While others at the station might think me paranoid, I knew there was something off about this girl. She was too...it was hard to explain in one word. But it was all very interesting.

Hell, she could even fit the Code. That could get rid of her as a problem permanently.

I asked for an early lunch and checked out of the station, ignoring Doakes's glares at me as I left. Poor little Doakes couldn't follow me anymore, and it royally pissed him off. I then pulled out of the parking lot in my minivan and headed for Happy Time Temp Agency.

**George's POV- the temp agency.**

Great. More paperwork. It's not like my day could suck any more. But Rube says that our job can't interfere with our job, so here I am at the "Happy" time temp agency, with a smiling face. If smiles were upside-down of course. I think Delores could tell I was having a bad day because she seemed to think I needed some cheering up, unfortunately for me, it was having the opposite effect.

" Remember Millie, here at Happy Time Services, we are always ready for a smile. Now how about a small one!" Ah Delores, how could you manage to be so happy and annoying, all at the same time. It was like you tried.

"Sorry, I'm just having a bad know, I had to get up a bit early and got caught in a jam." Her cheesy smile didn't falter for a second. I had to give her credit, it took talent to hold a smile for 12 out of the twenty four hours in a day. I think she decided I was a lost cause, because she ended up making some excuse up about paperwork.

I went back to filling out forms for the next hour, glancing at my clock, willing it to tick faster. It never worked. Fortunately and unfortunately, I finished my forms and contracts and such a bit early. So, I had an hour to kill and nothing to do.

So I spun for a good three minutes. And then I made a crane with a sticky note and drew a little flower on one. I sang the alphabet backwards in my head and in Spanish. God, I was board.

I continued spinning in my chair and making little sticky note doodles and origami. I'd finished my paperwork, so I was killing time till lunch break and my reap. An idea occurred to me.

It may be against the rules to use company internet for personal use, but I shall consider it a civic duty. I search for the "Bay Harbor Butcher". Well, I got the usual pictures of bodies, the police reports that had been released...no useful information, but I printed it all anyway. Then, with no one the wiser I slid the packet into a folder.

"Ya, you got a lot of papers in there. Researching something?" Praying it wasn't a boss or one of those tattle-tale people who do everything by the book, I flipped around. Behind me in line was a man in his early thirties, blond and entirely innocent with a face ready to smile. In other words, one of those people who really pisses me off with how good their life is.

"Yeah, um you know. The job and all. Say do you work here?" Knowing his type, he'd report me.

His reply surprised me, "Actually no, I got a bit turned around at the desk. Would you happen to be Millie Hagen?" Well, if I had learned anything in my undead life, it was people who search for you usually aren't going to tell you you'd won the lottery.

"Yeah, that's me." I said, very resigned to my fate.

He shuffled some papers around. "Hey listen, I'm from the Miami Metro Police Station, some cases have recently been opened up and you may be a key witness to some of them. I'm supposed to tell you to come down for questioning sometime this week." Well, that can't be good.

I messed with my hair, holding the folders with one hand. "Yeah well uh see, I work two jobs, so squeezing that in may be a bit hard for me." His eyes hardened for a minute, and I swear totally lost all signs of humanity, then went back to cheerful Bobby or whatever the hell his name was.

"Listen, we would appreciate if you did come down. Ask for Dexter." He extended his hand to shake. I looked down at it unsure if he would turn into a demon or something, but in the end took it. It wouldn't kill me, would it?

**Dexter's POV-same time**

Millie Hagen AKA George Lass was waiting for something to print when I came in. I casually walked in behind her, observing her for any suspicious behavior. I noticed she was printing Butcher articles. Damn. Did she remember?

I waited for her to finish before striking up conversation, asking if she was researching something. Me?

Her reply sounded nervous. When she asked if I worked here, I smiled and said I'd gotten turned around. And then proceeded with "Would you happen to be Millie Hagen?" I would've asked if she was George Lass, but since she was under an alias here, she'd most likely clam up in an instant. Better to start slow.

"Hey listen, I'm from the Miami Metro Police Station. Some cases have recently be reopened and you may be a key witness in some of them. I'm supposed to tell you to come down for questioning sometime this week." Blunt and to the point. She wouldn't suspect anything. Most likely, if she were a killer, she'd be thinking of ways to pin the accidents as accidents. It was to early to see if she was killing people. If she was, she was a genius. Following her Dark Passenger in broad daylight and managing not to get caught was a skill I would most likely never have. It'd be a shame to kill her.

Her reply almost, almost caught me off guard. "Yeah, well uh see, I work two jobs, so squeezing that in may be a bit hard for me." I see. You've become even more suspicious Miss Hagan. Suddenly, she flickered. I mean, her whole body flickered. She became a totally new person, the twin of George Lass almost. I lost my facial expression for just that nano-second. What the hell just happened.

Millie hadn't seemed to notice. It was now more than important I see her sooner. I told her, in a voice more darker than I'd intended that "We'd appreciate it if you did come down. Ask for Dexter." Oh, dark, dastardly Dexter.

I held my hand out to shake. She seemed hesitant. And then, like she was picking up a rattler, she gingerly shook it. Evidently she had seen my slip up.

I walked out of the temp agency at a normal pace, got into my minivan and drove to a nearby cafe. It had taken far shorter a time to find Millie/George than I expected, and since I'd taken a long lunch I might as well use it. It was a rather modern cafe, with internet evidently and people on laptops. I ordered a light chicken sandwich. I had at least half an hour before I needed to report. I could always eat while driving.

The cafe was not far from the temp agency, so when a red convertible passed by with George/Millie in it, I grabbed my sandwich, paid and got out of there, intending to follow. She'd gotten caught in a road construction site and had to go around, so I caught up easy. She was headed for a suburban area.

We were driving for about ten minutes before she pulled over at a house. George/Millies sat in her car for a long while, then got out, looked around and asked the man working on his lawnmower his name. I didn't catch it. She did though, looked a sticky note, and then oddly enough, touched him on the leg.

And then walked away to sit in her convertible, like she was waiting. What for?

That question was answered soon enough, when the mower started up and fell on the poor man's head, killing him instantly. Blood flew everywhere. Millie/George got a look of satisfaction, then began driving, back to work I presume.

Leaving me confused as to what just happened.

**George's POV**

I checked out for my lunch break and ran out to my convertible. Thank god for the sun. I had my sticky note all ready to go and found the address easily enough. Humpf. I should consider being a tour guide.

It was evidently another lawnmower reap. How boring and gross. I'd had these before, I did the routine q and a, then backed up to my car, having to wait for it all. a minivan was parked behind me. Well, at least somebody would report it.

The mower started up, and the it fell on the idiot. Since becoming a Reaper, I'd become a strong believer in Darwinism. I always managed to pick up idiots.

Mission accomplished, I showed the man to his bright lights and went back to my other job, a little later than usual.

**I took away said comment, which I don't usually do. I am sorry if I offended or made anyone lose what little respect they had for me. I realize now one should not type when one is angry, projection defense and other things.  
My writing style, flawed as it is, is a bit of a group thing. I'm used to getting input and having bad parts pointed out. I am spoiled, please humor me. When asking for a review, I am what you honestly thought of the story, bad parts, good parts, suggestions for the plot. I realize that I too dislike having to navigate and try to think of something to say after having read a story. It takes thirty seconds to make an fanfiction author's day. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi. A few changes have been made to this story. Mostly because I realized it's much easier to start at the beginning of a season, rather than in the middle. It's starting at the BEGINNING of season two, after he's reconciled himself with Rudy's death, but before the bodies have been found. Dexter murdered Daniel instead of that blind guy. I know, he was supposed to falter, but he has already reconciled himself, because I'm having Paul die before the start of the season, so he's already gone to the funeral. And yes, I do realize this isn't in the correct order, and I apologize for those of you who dislike AU's. I decided that for DLM it should be put in first season, because I am more familiar with this territory. I'm trying to remain as canon as possible. Thanks to all who have stuck out this long.**

**For those of you confused, which I apologize for, here is the order. Doakes was  
**

**Well...since this happened, I guess you're wondering how Daniel knew the name, "the Butcher"? All in good time...  
**

**I don't remember which episode George get's her car...so...yeah.**

**Summary: George has met Dexter and decided to go into the station. Dexter has seen a reap. It has been two days since then.  
**

**DEXTER'S POV**

I went home after a truly exhausting day. Rita had called to ask me to come over soon, that we needed to talk. My brain at half capacity, I didn't understand her decision fully.

"Yeah, sure I can do that. I come by soon as I can, okay?" Rita paused for a while, then said it was to be after Astor and Cody had gone to bed.

After following George/Millie on her day trip, I had become perplexed with the situation. What exactly had she done back there? She hadn't seemed to care if anyone saw her and acted like it was a normal part of her day. I felt like I was entering new territory, never a good sign.

I almost ran into my apartment door, so lost was I in my thoughts. Great. locked out by Deb again. I banged on the window. "DEB! Let me in!" Within twenty seconds, the door opened. She seemed excited. Practically dragging me to the television, she pointed to the ten o'clock news.

On the screen was my bay. And a forensics team examining something...The video shrunk into a minor corner of the screen, and the news reporter said something about treasure hunters finding bags beneath the sea.

Wow. Way to be Dexter. Two fuck ups in one day. Care for a strike out?

**GEORGE'S POV**

When I got home to the apartment, I was dog tired. Not for reaping or anything, but because the city had decided that any sort of transportation I used could not be legal, and told me my car had been impounded. This had just been a shitty day. I flipped on the TV before going to bed. The ten o'clock news was on. Stuff about a serial killer. Great.

The police were looking into it. My brain may not be the fastest, but I was going to the police to report soon...and if one of my reaps was a victim...and I got close to this Dexter...

Well, the fucker who screwed my day royally was about to have some screwing of his own.

Ah, I now believe in karma.

I had planned on sleeping in, but my alarm clock decided against this when I was rudely awakened at 6 in the morning. I had time to shower, and then headed straight back to bed. Unfortunately, it didn't ring again until 7:52, at which point I had to sprint to the Der Waffle House.

Yay me. Never mind, karma can go fuck ass, none of it's true.

I got there in time to miss ordering breakfast and get my Post-it. New reap.

_Darcy Saxon_

_Miami Police Station, Homicide  
_

_ETD 3:54_

The same time as my appointment. Two birds with one stone, right?

That was my thinking anyway. Good timing, today was looking up, but I wasn't gonna go for karma again.I just went to Happy Time, had a good work day, (If there was such thing) and clocked out at 3:15. After lunch of course, you can never reap on an empty stomach. I swear, I've tried.

When I arrived at the police station, it was abuzz with news on some big shot from the government they'd sent to crack the case. Bundy or something. An apparent genius. Well, genius or no, they all died in the end. I headed up to Homicide, where I found out Dexter worked. It was 3:40.

Time efficiency? I think so. I goofed around, looking at posters while I hung around the forensics area, apparently that was what Dexter's job was. What did forensics need with a witness from cold cases? No evidence was on me, far as I could tell. I actually looked down at my clothes to check. Nope, bloodstains were out. That sounded like a commercial for detergent or bleach. Need help getting those blood stains out of your clothes? By CLOROX!

Might take some time to catch on, in the meantime, new reapers will just have to experiment until they find out what I did, and realize clorox is the way to go.

At 3:50 I realized I better start looking for Darcy. I was kind of happy I already knew her, in a twisted sort of way. Now I didn't have to waste a bunch of time figuring out who she was. I started looking around for her, and saw her near a window, talking to a police officer. Well, we were in a police station, right?

I waved her over, but she seemed confused, like she didn't know me. Okay, I know some people don't experience death everyday, but you gotta recognize the one person who went through your experience too, right? Evidently not in Darcy's case. I walked over to her. It was 3:52. Might as well pop the soul now, never mind she didn't recognize me.

"I thought you were someone I knew. Are you Darcy Saxon?" I might as well be sure, I didn't want to have to go track down the real Darcy if this one was just a look alike. She nodded and sniffed. She looked like she'd been crying.

She told me there was no reason for him to run, he'd found a good job on a boat. He'd been hired by some scuba divers.

At the same time I held her elbow to help her sit down, I allowed the soul-poppingness that it is to begin. I pretended like I cared.

Darcy seemed to not remember anything from that night. She told me she hadn't seen her brother in almost three days, and she'd gotten worried. When she'd gone into his apartment, it was empty. His girlfriend had just died, so she was worried for them.

Blahblah. Sob story. Well, I knew it now, Darcy evidently didn't recall anything thanks to whatever that Butcher guy gave us. 3:54. I back up from her, not knowing how she was going to die. Oh yes, death is such a mystery.

She just fell over. Pathetic. I looked around. That, in my opinion, is not going out with a bang. What the hell just happened? Poison maybe? Whatever, she was dead, and now I had to lead her spirit to the next step. Lucky bitch.

She appeared right by me, confused, as they usually are. I pointed to a blue light around the corner, no real patience cuz I kind of enjoyed the fact that a lot of people died in memorable way, hey I had. But no, the people in the chairs next to her hadn't even realized she was dead yet! Okay, so I didn't have a right to take it out on her, but whatever. Reap done, right?

I turned around and headed to the lab in the back. Dexter was at the door, staring at what used to be Darcy's body. Then he met my eyes. All of a sudden I knew, that he was the only one in the room who know these two things. One, Darcy Saxon was dead. Two, I had something to do with it.

So, in response, I smiled at him and kindly gave him the birdie.

**DEXTER'S POV**

I'd gotten into work on time, but everybody was in the conference room. I peaked in. On the screen was picture of Rody, with a man in a suit saying that the Ice Truck Killer was not the Butcher, has the news now called him. He also said the bodies had been found three days previous, the morning of the day I finished off another slide. I added the second part of that sentence in of course.

Agent Lundy, as Masuka told me, was heading the case. He was a genius at solving serial killer cases, with a long, proud track record.

Because the universe hadn't given me enough shit today.

**I do realize that it's not a lot of your guys fault for no reviews. I just realize that even though it's a fault of mine, I find suggestions to move the plot this way, and parts that weren't so good and you got lost in really helpful. I am sorry for snapping you guys. I also realized that I should show more appreciation for those of you who are reviewing, so I'm going to answer every review that comes in. If it's anonymous, my reply will go down here.**

**You guys are the best!**

**I'm trying to reach a goal of 2,000 words per chapter, still short I know. But I feel like I'm cheating you guys. Thanks to all those who read!  
**

**Katiespencer83: Good idea! I actually didn't know where it was placed, but I needed the two to be in the same place, so someone had to move...:) It would indeed be fun to write/read that happening. I'm keeping that in mind! Thank you!**

**Lupa Lunae: I don't think so. There is an episode (at the end of season one) where they all have reaps from a serial killer. The last reap is George's and she reaps him. I don't think she could have done it though without the assignment. He is a cause of death for the gravelings.**

**Lily: I can empathize. I hate it when stories are discontinued. I'll try not to do it with this one, because I really like it!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello, again, we're back for it's come to my attention I change from 3rd person to 1st person...I actually didn't know I did this. Has this made it hard?**

**I apologize in advance for any and all grammar and such errors. Please feel free to inform me, as that would be great to know..And for those of you who didn't catch it in the last one, pardon me for not making it clear, Daniel was the guy who drove the boat the diver's used. I know I made it sound all cryptic...sorry-sighs.  
**

**Summary: Lundy's entered the game and Dimwitted Dexter has witnessed yet another reap and although he's sure George has a lot to do with it, he thinks she's just is a very clever serial killer. **

**This is mostly a come to understanding chapter, where each party is filing away information. Most action will take place next chapter.  
**

**Dexter's POV**

Lundy had been here for nearly a week already. I'd been staying up late and avoiding Rita for most of it, trying to figure out a way out of this and keep him off my tail. He'd already found the bodies, I was sure I'd been careful, so there could be no evidence on them. Harry had taught me well. I thought back in my head as far back as I could. The only thing that concerned me was the pattern. All killers have them, nobody kills without a reason, even me. I may be driven to kill, but I had style. I know who to kill, those who would fall under the radar. Except now they had been plastered everywhere. Nobodies who had no reason to see the light of day again.

It worried me Lundy might see the pattern, but he was thinking the "Butcher" (Where the hell did they get that name anyways, the only time I had heard it was from Saxon.) was like the Ice Truck Killer. Brian. God. Seeing his face again...at least he had the common sense to realize I was more professional than my brother. The Miami Police weren't ready for me, they had only just recovered from Brian's escapades all over the city. I was counting on that to help me.

Millie or George, whoever she was had stopped by for my "interview". It was odd, at the same time she made a very convincing witness and obvious bystander, she seemed to have no remorse and treated death lightly. That combined with the fact Darcy Saxon had died in the lobby due to a poisonous mushroom seemed...well, I'm starting to sound like a broken record.

I needed to get some sleep. The problem is Deb's still living with me, though she has promised to look for some apartments. I shouldn't shove her out, but the sooner the better. Then I could find some time to concentrate on others things than bowling...which Rita has gotten suspicious of. God. Anyone willing to take over driving this life of mine?

Rita keeps leaving me messages, saying we need to meet. I had agreed to meet her last weekend, but after Lundy and informing her about this big case, she agreed to put it off. Now she's saying we most definitely need to talk.

I don't see myself as a talking kind of guy. I don't really need to give justification to my victims, except when trying to prolong the experience. This might not end well...

I've left a message, saying I'll be there at 9-ish. After the kids have gone to bed. It seemed the best time to talk then. I can only hope this doesn't concern my recent behavior.

It's about five right now. The office is winding down, except for those on the "Butcher" case. I'd finally figured out how Saxon knew that name. He'd come up with it. When I'd been talking to one of the diver's I'd found out that he'd been the boat driver that took them out to the bay, at least a day before the news broadcast. The diver, a young man, informed me that they'd brought up a bag and "Danny" as the group called him said, "God. This bastards a butcher." Heh. Figures, I had even more justification for ridding the world of a dark soul, coining that phrase. Please, a butcher is messy, barbaric. I was clean, a doctor, healing society from themselves. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. I was the precise knife.

"Earth to Space Cadet Morgan. Do you read me?"

I looked up at Angel. Snapping out of my somber thinking. I was having debates within myself, things must be bad.

"Space Cadet checking in. Clear to land?" I grinned back at him. Angel was one of those on the Butcher case I was pretty sure, along with Masuka. I was getting updates everyday. It was just like Facebook, "You've been tagged in a photo by Vince Masuka. Special Agent Lundy just posted on your wall."

"Morgan, me an some other buddies are heading out for drinks. Wanna come?" Angel was always trying to forget about the divorce, poor guy. He wasn't an alcoholic, he just wanted to forget. I don't think it's working though.

"No thanks, me and the girlfriend are going to "talk"." I replied. "Would love to on any other night, but I've been ignoring her lately, you know?" He could relate, communication was supposedly a big key in relationships.

Angel just nodded and went back to work.

Deb was working extra hard on this case. She thinks if they crack this one, and she's a major part she can get over what Brian did. Sorry, "The Ice Truck Killer" did. She's been a bit tense these past few days.

Right now, however, I need to get back to figuring out the true identity of Millie/George. Killing with a touch. I'd need to find out how one could do that, if it was poison. The woman I believe to be her latest victim, Saxon's apparent sister Darcy, had died of a seizure/heart attack. She'd fallen asleep and so no one bothered to check on her. Very convenient. No toxins, drugs, anything so far. It was possible she'd used an antipsychotic drug, but I was pretty sure that would turn up, and usually took a while to take effect.

I'd visited George Lass's grave. The ground was undisturbed. No signs. She couldn't have faked her own death, incredibly expensive. She wasn't some lost relative. Millie, as I'd come to know her during our interview, had just moved here and had no connections. She was living in an apartment of her recently deceased boyfriend. She had no cell phone, no facebook. Nothing that could trace her. She had a select group of friends who had almost nothing in common, one was even a traffic cop.

"Millie" existed on no records. George Lass was dead. Millie/George, I saw sometimes both of them in the same body. It would be a blink, and she would look more fleshy, more there. Her hair was thicker and she had more of an intelligent look. It had to be a trick of the light.

I spent the rest of the night until eight forty-five trying to find something to pin on her that she existed, then I headed over to Rita's.

**George's POV meanwhile...**

The interview had been uneventful, besides the fact we both knew the reason I was there was a lie. I often saw him following me, but heck, he had nothing on me. When I went to Rube to ask him about it, he'd said it was going to be taken care of soon. What could that mean? Cliche question, I know...

Work was the same, one reap a day, go back to the shit-hole I call home. Repeat. had money again, which is always good.

Keeping up with tabs on the Butcher, I'd clipped every article and recorded all news footage. I was studying it. Why hadn't I become a police officer? I'd asked Roxy if she had any new news, all she said was no, and even if she did that was classified, there's no way a "civilian" like me should get a hold of information like that.

Because I'm totally a terrorist. Watch out, I'll stab you with my bacon.

I slowly began to see a pattern in victims, except for Daniel. Almost all the victims found in the Bay had some sort of criminal background. Charges dropped usually and they got away scot free. Except for Daniel, he was the one who didn't fit. Why would the Butcher target him?

**Special Agent Lundy's POV (AKA that's right, there's more than pb and j in this sandwhich!)**

I pushed my hands through my hair, a habit from my youth. The victims profiles, all their information on a wall. I stared at it for the longest time. I was the last one in the office.

They called me a genius, I broke cases that others couldn't even get a grip on. Well, this guy was a fucking genius too. Not a drop out of place. I had to admit, he was an artist.

The victims seemed to be chosen by random. That couldn't be, because there was one thread, always connecting them. Men, women, young, old. It made no difference to this Butcher. Poor or rich, something was similar in all of them that had ended their lives as surely as terminal cancer when he found them.

He'd been doing it for a long time, years. And he'd been good from the start.

It was all out of character. The victims were the same, trying to recreate the first kill. But they were nothing a like in his case.

It's hard at first, they make mistakes, but the earliest victims were just as professionally done.

There had to be a pattern, that made this killer search these men and women out. What was it.

My phone rang. I naturally picked it up, sighing in the process, running my fingers through my hair with my free hand.

"Special Agent Lundy?" A feminine voice asked.

"This is me. What do you want, how did you get this number?"

"You don't need to know that. I have a tip for you...on the Bay Harbor Butcher. Look closely, at what they've _done_. I know this sounds like fortune fucking cookie advice, but just do it, okay?" She sounded urgent, then hung up.

And I began going through their criminal files. I called my team in the next morning.

**Like I said, all the action will occur in the upcoming chapters. Hoped you guys sort of enjoyed this one, it's not one of my favorites, but since I've changed this story so much on you guys, you deserved to know why stuff has happened so you're not confused. That way I can set up some sort of semblance to a good ending. Oh, and this is sort of a halfway point, chapter's seven and eight. This story is also something like five months old now, happy birthday to it!**

**Hella530: Thank you. I was hoping people would find parts humorous. **

**Kelardry: I can see how I am being confusing, and I apologize. I am looking for plot pointers, and I don't know about anyone else, but I'm constantly crossing over stories with my current obsessions. And I also believe that every fanfic should have a psychic six year old.**

**Gantz: Thank you!  
**

**Lily 0: Thank you, I hope you enjoy this update as well.**

**Gantz 0: Thanks a lot! It's great to hear things like that!**

**irritated-skeptic: Thanks for that slap in the face, I needed it. I've been very, very slowly adding bits and pieces, but you reminded me that I need to be a lot faster if I was to keep you guys at least satisfied. Thank you.  
**


	8. chapter 8

**Hey again people! Sorry for the wait! I'm all ready with new ideas on how to finish this story, so we'll see how that goes. Afterwords, I'll be editing because after re-reading my story, I see many, many, glaring spelling errors. Most are me trying to sound clever but are really just me spiraling into a giant fail. **

**So, we left off with Lundy receiving a tip about the victim's backgrounds and calling his team in, Dexter needs to meet with Rita and is beginning to narrow his suspicions on Geprge, and George is spending all available free time trying to find all she can about the Butcher. **

**Dexter's POV (10:04 pm)**

I pulled into Rita's driveway, the lights were off. Rita herself was sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hey, what's up? What'd you want to talk about, honey?" I went in for a hug, but she pushed me away. Uh-oh.

"Dexter, please sit down." Rita said plainly.

She continued- "Before Paul died, when he was in jail, he kept talking about a shoe...do you remember anything about one of his shoe's?"

"Um, no I don't. I remember he walked out and then the next day he was arrested..." I tried to come up with a cover story fast.

"Well, he seemed to have this crazy notion that _you _had set him up Dexter, why would he think that?"

"I don't know Rita, you remember how Paul was before you died. He was probably just doing that jealous ex thing..." Her lips tightened.

"Dex, before Paul died, he kept going on and on about a shoe. I decided to humor him...Dexter, he said that you would have dragged him through the yard and he lost a shoe in the process." S-H-I-T.

I didn't want to answer. That had been so long ago, why was she bringing it up now? I didn't know what to say. I met her eyes, trying to convey worry, concern. She didn't really want to know the answer, did she?

"Dexter...I found the shoe."

I began to think of something to say, nothing came to mind.

"Rita- I-he-...he just- well, the way he talked-" I tried to explain.

She interrupted me. "Dexter, did you have anything to do with Paul's arrest?"

"..." I didn't know what to say yet. I tried to think of something, nothing came to mind. I might as well wing it.

"Rita...it was a spur of the moment thing. He just kept talking, and well, the next thing I knew I'd hit him and he was on the floor! You knew Paul, he deserved to be in jail..."

She pursed her lips. "Dex...where'd you get the drugs?" What? okay, wait...mind cue in...that's right.

"Well, I grabbed some from the stat-" She interrupted again, saying "I thought you said you didn't plan this. How did you get the drugs?" Crap...um...I still didn't answer.

"Were they yours Dexter?" I remained silent. I looked down at the floor. Rita sat down at the table with me and took my hands.

"Dexter...are you addicted to drugs?" I met her eyes. What to say? This might explain to her about my odd hours. I met her eyes and responded,

"Yes, I have an addiction." There, out it comes, just not the addiction you were thinking. You wish it was just cocaine I was into, that might be better...

She sighed. I put my head in my hands, feigning relief. "Well then," She finally said. "I guess, this is good it's coming out now. Thank you Dexter."

It became quiet. The kind where it's uncomfortable yet you don't really want to shatter the semblance of peace. Rita spoke first.

"Now... what are we going to do about it?" Her face was written with concern all over it.

"I don't really know." And I honestly didn't. What did real users say in this situation? What did Rita want me to say?

There was silence between us for a long while. A comfortable, honest, silence. Each of us was thinking, then after about five minutes, Rita got up and out of her seat, pulling me up by my hands too. She gave me a tight hug and kissed me.

"Let's work this out together Dex." I nodded.

We talked for a little longer and came to decisions, mostly that I should being attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings, we wouldn't tell Astor and Cody, and she would stand by me as I "battled" through my addiction.

When I left it was about eleven thirty. As I drove back to my apartment, I pondered the days events. When I arrived home, I ran into Deb, who was running out of the apartment at the same time.

"Hey Deb, what's the rush?" I asked. She looked like she'd just gotten up.

"What?- oh, Lundy's found some new clues on the case, says there may be a breakthrough! Gotta run though-" She swallowed a doughnut that was probably mine whole, then ran down the stairs to her car. I smiled then walked into my apartment. A breakthrough? That wasn't good. I'd have to get myself close to this team if I wanted to find anything out.

I began researching my next victim, George Lass, as I'd come to call her. First Rule of the Code, Never get caught. If I got this one, it would be two birds in one stone. She evidently knew more than what she had told me.

**Lundy's POV**

It was eight in the morning, the sun was high and my team was exhausted, with empty coffee cups in hand. We'd been up here for a while, piecing together the bits and pieces of each victims past. It was me, LaGuarta, Detective Morgan and two other members from my team.

At first it had been hard to understand the cryptic message _"Look what they've _done_."_ But now I was understanding it. The Butcher didn't seek out physical aspects of each victim. That didn't seem to matter to him. He was to smart for that, instead, he picked out the dregs of humanity, the people no one would miss. For some of the victims, it was hard not to congratulate him for what he'd done, they had been as much of a monster as the Butcher was, just less neater.

But around six in the morning, we had cracked it. After searching through public records galore, job applications, school records, we'd finally hit it. The police records. Every single one of his victims had a criminal record. And every single one had been processed through this police station.

LaGuarta met my eyes. She knew what this meant. Immediately, I ordered the other two that no one was to know of anything we had found, not even anyone on the team. Especially anyone in the station, because if we were right then the Butcher was right here under our noses.

We would have to go through every single person in Homicide's cases, but it would pay off. The Butcher wasn't going to get away, not when we had narrowed him down to fifty suspects. He would have to step lively now, but he'd been doing that since he began his dirty work. The only way it seemed to beat this guy was to be more clever than a genius.

And so we began our long, painful, thought provoking paperwork trail in the police department, trying our best to not let any policeman know that we thought _he _could be the Bay Harbor Butcher.

We called in a few more trustworthy team members to help up wade through the paperwork, then I called it a night. As I left, I ran into the Blood forensics tech guy, Detective Morgan's brother. He looked pretty tired, but offered me a doughnut.

**George's POV**

I hung up the poor dead guy's phone, wiping it of fingerprints in the process. I could just take it, but it would get shut off within the month and I really didn't want people questioning me what the odd, red stains on the front of my blackberry were. Nope, better to avoid them questions all together.

I hopped into my red Cadillac, today had been a would be robber meeting some pretty nasty dobermans. I yawned, if these night shifts kept up, I might as well get a night job instead. Quit my Happy Time stint. I was trapped in my daydreams for a while as I drove.

This detective thing wasn't really working out. I knew about as much about the Butcher as every other serial killer fanatic did. Well, besides that they were all criminals. That had been a lucky shot in the dark. The only sure way from this point on was to get up and close into the station, any way I could.

Hmmmm...what to do. I drove around for a while before heading home for some much needed sleep. Good lord, I was tired.

**:/ Not to happy with this one...I figure it's gonna pick up soon, though I keep saying that. Major editing. My computer just got a virus, happy day! I had to wipe everything so internet and writing is a no go so far until it's fixed...We didn't make 2,000 words with this one, sorry, only 1500. R&R you know the drill :)**

**Just to let you know, I was pretty tired when I wrote this...I tried to go what I remembered from Rita's & Dexter's talk in the series, but I don't think it turned out nearly as well soooo...  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**...Please don't shoot! Okay, so I might be amore than a little late with this update. I just moved across state and the internet people took forever to get here...I was mostly writing at the local McDonald's which has free internet.**

**So, Dexter's thinking about getting help for his "problem", George is about to get more involved with the case if possible, and Lundy has begun combing the department for the BHB...we'll see how this goes.**

**George's POV**

I flicked my pencil across the desk. I was horribly, completely B-O-R-E-D. So far, progress on the BHB was zilch and looking to stay that way. Happy Time was the same as usual, which is to say that as of yet, NOTHING besides a paper cut (The moment of near excitement was almost too much) happened this morning. I looked at my sticky note again, even though I had the words memorized.

_Donald Gengurt_

_ETD-8:32 PM_

_Narcotics Anonymous Basement_

It was 4:34 PM. Only five hours and fifty four minutes to go.

It occurred to me then, that since almost all the BHB cases went through Miami Metro Homicide, that quite possibly one of them was the Butcher. I shook that notion off. The police would know if they had a deranged serial killer under their roof, wouldn't they? But the Butcher was sneaky...in any case, Agent Lundy knew all that I knew, so it was in his hands. It was just my job to do the field research and get out of here.

Well, it couldn't hurt to check under every rock. I began writing down the names of every person I had met at the police department when I went to talk to Dexter.

**Vince Masuka**- Definitely not the Butcher. He didn't look like he could lift two women, let alone stomach cutting a person into pieces with power tools.

**Sergeant Doakes**- Angry enough. But he seemed like his sense of justice and loyalty was to the cops. He was strong enough to carry a car, and his gun and excessive force showed that evidently he could stand hacking away at cadavers.

**Detective Angel Batista**- Didn't seem like the type. He was too laid back and friendly to want to commit murder most foul. It was quite possible however he was carrying a deep, dark built in rage against the "ones who got away".

**Laguarta**- She was a focused, single minded career political woman. She would hardly take the time from her day to do something that wouldn't advance her career in one way or another, and as far as I could tell, murder usually landed you in prison, not a promotion.

**Deborah Morgan**- An alright woman. Again, not the type. I couldn't see her slight frame, barely recovering from the Ice Truck Killer case, hunting down and killing criminals. It _was_ possible, just not probable. Besides, I had the feeling that the BHB was a guy.

**Dexter Morgan**- The man was creepy enough. He seemed happy and content, but it all seemed like an act. While he might not be a killer, Dexter definitely is hiding something in those dark eyes of his.

I wracked my brain for any more information. Nope. I'd have to work with this. My head had begun to pound, whether from boredom or stress I couldn't tell. I just wanted to get out of this dinky hell hole I call work.

I decided to clock out early. Life was too short (I'm currently below zero in years I have left to live.) to waste it on boredom. I headed for my car and reached for the map I carry in the glove compartment. While I may know my way around the local tourist destinations and about 74% of the city, I did not know where junkies went to talk about their problems and work through them in a warm, friendly atmosphere.

Great. On the complete opposite end of town. I rested my hands in my head and tried to forget the price of gas these days. After picking out the shortest, most efficient route, I started the car and headed off to get there about two and a half hours ahead of schedule. Yay.

**Dexter's POV**

My first NA meeting is tonight. I don't really want to go, but Rita's been very much into helping me work through my "problems". I'm all for that, I just don't think the poor people at these meetings are ready for what dark, devious Dexter has really been up too in the wee hours of the morning. But here I am, trying to forget about all my problems and looking for an escape route. I pulled into a parking space, right next to a red Cadillac. After locking the car I headed downstairs to the basement, where this meeting was supposedly being held.

The room was about half full when I got inside, most people were sitting in the fold up chairs that had been set up for the meeting. There was little chatter going on and I spied a table of what seemed to be an ancient coffee pot that deserved to be put down and some crusty cookies on a plate beside it. I decided not to take my chances and made my way to a chair in the back row.

As soon as I sit down I spot my mistake. To my immediate right in flesh and blood was one George/Millie. I tried not to react and could tell she was holding back a bit of surprise as well. George stiffened and attempted not to look my way at all throughout the entire meeting. It had started at eight, but at about halfway through she got up and making a point not to see me, wandered over to another man, supposedly to ask him a question. She brushed his shoulder as she leaned over and then calmly walked back to her seat. I was a tad tense during the exchange and more than a bit fascinated. This young woman was just as obviously here for drug rehab as I was. I was about to witness another kill by a master.

Suddenly, for no visible explanation, the ancient coffeepot next to the man exploded, with pieces impaling themselves in his head. Cookies went flying and the population of the room dove for cover. George/Millie calmly sank low in her seat and grabbed another chair for cover. That chair happened to be the one I was using to deflect the burning coffee that was raining down. Our eyes met and I suddenly saw the face of a much more startled young woman, one who looked identical to the deceased George Lass. She released the chair and crawled away. The counselor for the group attempted to calm people down, and on failing, dismissed the meeting and called for police. I tried to slip away and follow George, but all too soon I lost sight of her. I arrived in the parking lot in time to see the red Cadillac pull away.

I wanted to scream, through a tantrum, and most definitely kill somebody. I needed a kill and soon. And though I would love for Ms. Lass to be on my table, tied down with plastic the Code did not allow it. I couldn't prove her guilt yet. I resorted to punching the brick wall repeatedly and ended up with some bloody knuckles for my actions. Growling and cursing under my breath, I yanked the door of the minivan open and slammed my head into the driver's wheel. Damn. Damn. The only living witness to a kill and I couldn't kill her. She was too much trouble. I just needed to find out how she killed, that was all I really needed.

Think Dexter, think. Each kill has a different M.O. All the kills look like accidents and no evidence is left behind, besides a few fingerprints. The only consistency was the touch. Right before each kill she put her hand on the victim by shaking their hand, touching their shoulder, or something of that kind. It couldn't be a poison...maybe it was a signal to someone she was working with. She would touch the victim, and someone else, a partner, activates whatever accident has to occur. An exploding coffeepot in this case.

But there was no other recognizable person in any of the other cases. And if I only killed George, the unnamed partner would have a chance to get away, or possibly kill me. I couldn't risk it.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I started the minivan and pulled out of the parking lot, heading back to the apartment.

When I get back all the lights are shut off and it's completely dark inside. I sigh as I pull out the key and try to make as little noise as possible. The second I get inside however, is probably the most unpredictably sight I've ever laid eyes on. George Lass is sitting on my couch and glaring at a spot on the carpet clutching a baseball bat with a warrior's ferocity.

**So, kind of short, I apologize. This was sitting in my laptop all summer and since school is starting for me, I decided it was best to get it out even if it was a tad short, because it probably wouldn't get done until November otherwise. Just a few questions for people who are reviewing then...**

**1. Were character's in character?**

**2. Did this chapter flow easily or did it have a choppy feel to it?**

**3. Does it connect with previous chapters easily?**

**4. In one word, describe this chapter-**


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